Deo Gratias
by If Only I Were A Slinky
Summary: Honestly Cas doesn't know how he's going to pull this one off. First, he has to convince cynical Dean Winchester there's demons that are out to get his brother. Second, he has to befriend them to aid Heaven. God help us all. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Deo Gratias

Summary: Honestly Cas doesn't know how he's going to pull this one off. First, he has to convince this cynical Dean Winchester there's demons that are out to get his brother. Secondly, the apocalypse could start any day now if he doesn't succeed in saving both Dean and Sam. Thirdly, he has to befriend Dean to help Heaven. God help us all. AU.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Authors Note: If you don't review when you are done you are likely to spontaneously combust. Oh yeah. It'll happen. Do you want to chance that? Also, if things seem confusing in the beginning, it's meant to be that way. I'm obviously holding back secrets to be revealed at a later time and things shall become clearer as the chapters flow out.

You should note that this **IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE**. Dean, Sam, Bobby, and John are not hunters.

IIIII

_If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is 'God is crying.' And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is 'Probably because of something you did.' - Jack Handey_

IIIII

**Prologue**

Castiel does not question the will of his Father. He may have insecurities of why his Father tells him to do things he does, but those are his own issues to deal with. He is an angel of the Lord and God's will shall be done.

So when his Lord tells him his next mission, he gratefully takes it upon his shoulders and gives his word that it will be carried out.

When he arrives in his human vessel, Jimmy Novak, it takes some time to become used to the new body. He walks somewhat awkwardly for a few minutes but manages to not kill himself by slipping on a magazine which was carelessly left on the floor. He picks it up and there are humans covered in what appears to be grotesquely-colored outfits with large headlines of people called "celebrities". He sets it down on the table and looks about the comfortable living space Jimmy calls home.

He's come to Earth to deliver an extremely urgent and important message to a human named Dean Winchester, age 24, currently residing in the state of South Dakota. He is the elder sibling of Sam Winchester, the being in question and of whom Castiel wishes to speak to him about. Thing is, Castiel hasn't much interaction with humans and is unsure of where to begin. He is a warrior, not a talker.

_Do I simply appear at his home and tell him who I am?_ He wonders. _That seems to suffice._

Castiel uses his powers to transport himself from one location to the next. Now he's standing on top of a salvaged car, looking down, and realizing that he's only wearing a white, collared button up shirt and a pair of jeans. Then suddenly he gets a feeling he can't describe-something nips at his flesh, and he realizes that there's snow on the ground. He's never experienced this particular discomfort before and has no name for it. But no matter, he should soon be talking to Dean.

He hops down off of the car and hears a hissing noise. Castiel whips his head around, crouching down for an attack, when he realizes the hissing came from his own lips. The discomfort now has led to a dull ache in his lower extremeties, his feet, and he finds himself jumping from foot to foot. The snow causes him serious unease and he is now making long strides towards the house surrounded by this mess of vehicles.

After three abrupt raps on the door, a miserable Castiel finds himself face to face with the man he's been sent here for. His short hair is a dirty brown color, sticking up slightly in the front, and he has an expression in his eyes that the angel hasn't a word for. If he had known it, it would be called surprise.

"Do you even know what time it is?" are Dean Winchester's first words to him.

"God does not measure his missions by time."

The twenty four year old slaps a hand to his forehead and says, "Oh that's right! The fanatics always come out during the Holiday season. Maybe I should get Bobby and we could sit around and read stories from the Bible."

"I assure you that it is not my duty to converse the scripture with you," Castiel responds gravely. His blue eyes bore into Dean's green ones, and Dean swears that the man doesn't even blink. He only stands there letting the gauche silence extend between them until it becomes unbearable.

"O-o-okay-" Dean's eyes flicker down to Castiel's bare feet "-apparently socks and shoes are overrated where you're from."

"I did not deem it necessary to put anything on my feet."

"And how is that working out for you?" drawls Dean, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Perhaps I was wrong because this is very uncomfortable." A pause as he allows his Grace to flow through his body, warming him, even his toes. "Is it not customary to invite guests in?"

"Yeah, usually," agrees Dean, "when there's actual guests. You're just some random dude who showed up here at one thirty four in the morning. Did your car break down or what? Do you need to use the phone?"

"I do not need a car to travel long distances."

"So I assume you just zap yourself from place to place?"

"Zap?" Castiel's head cocks to the side in confusion. "No, use my powers to teleport."

"Beam me up Scotty," Dean mutters.

"I am not Scotty."

"Great, he's completely serious," murmurs Dean to himself under his breath. He leans against the doorframe and says, "Tell ya what . . . " He leaves his sentence open for Castiel to barge in at at any time he pleases to introduce himself, but the angel merely stands, staring at Dean, waiting for him to finish. "What's your name?"

"I am the angel Castiel."

"Um, right. Angel. Got it. Tell you what, Cas, I'll let you use the phone and that's it. Someone can pick you up or something."

"I'm telling you, I do not require transport," Castiel says with more force in his tone. "I am here to discuss something of the utmost importance with you, Dean Winchester."

"Wait, wait. How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things about you, Dean. I'm an angel and therefore know-"

"Okay, now I'm not even letting you in the house to use the phone. Just go. Leave." Dean goes to shut the door but Castiel sticks his arm in there, successfully keeping it open. "You are two seconds away from being loaded full of buckshot."

"If you would only listen to what I have to say-"

"Yeah, I'm not too eager to listen to crazy people talk. Why don't you talk to a nice psychiatrist who will give you these little candy-shaped pills that'll make aaall of your problems go away?"

"I'm not searching for anyone but you, Dean. It is vital that I help you and-"

"I don't need some stranger to help me! Now go!"

Castiel can tell this is going to get him nowhere. Dean Winchester is not only stubborn, but cynical. A cynicist always looks for a coffin when he smells flowers, Castiel recalls, and Dean seems like the type to do so.

Removing his arm and letting the door slam in his face he says tersely, "I shall return later."

Through the door he can hear Dean reply, "I'll have my gun ready."

Castiel frowns. This has not gone as he anticipated. Why are people so unwilling to hear the truth? It's hard to understand the nature of humans.

Alas, he will try again tomorrow, despite this threat of a gun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Deo Gratias**

**Chapter One**

"Guy said he was an _angel_."

"Did you ask to see his wings?" chuckles Bobby.

"Why encourage an obviously mentally ill person?"

"And you just let him wander out into the cold."

Dean leans back in his chair, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "I assumed he came here by car. Cars have heaters. He'll be fine."

"I'm glad you answered the door. I'm not quite sure how I would handle that situation." Bobby downs the rest of his morning beer and slams the empty bottle on the table. "So whattya got planned for today, Dean? A nice trip into town to fetch a guy some groceries?"

"I suppose that could be arranged," concedes Dean with a smirk. "I don't have to work today so I can do that."

Dean grabs the Impala's keys off of the shelf and as he's going out the door Bobby says quietly, "Sam called the house last night. It was while you were out like a light so I didn't wake you up, but I said that I'd talk to you about talking to him."

Dean lets out an explosive sigh. "I'm not interested," He states flatly.

"Won't you atleast consider it? John wouldn't have wanted-"

"I don't really give a rat's ass what dad would have wanted. If he had really wanted Sammy and I to get along he wouldn't have-you know what? I'm not having this conversation. I know you're concerned 'n all but I've got enough on my plate," heatedly rebukes Dean. He slams the door behind him, stomping in the snow.

Dean knows damn well that he should be calling his little brother. This little feud of theirs can't last forever; two months is long enough, isn't it? But he can't bring himself to apologize. Their father was a selfish, self-absorbed man who couldn't be bothered with raising his own goddamned children. What would be the purpose of going to the man's funeral if he didn't feel any actual grief? The bastard was dead, rotting in the ground, and Dean would rather move on with his life than remember any of his younger years spent living with John Winchester.

Apparently, when you die, it erases all of the wrong things you've ever done in your life. All is forgiven! Suddenly you're remembered for your hits and not your misses. The misses don't even count anymore. People throw them aside, only recalling the good times, and what a "good father" he was after their mother died.

_Good father my ass_, Dean snarls internally. _Dad knew damn well that I was raising Sammy, not him._

And Sam never acknowledged that Dean was the one who pratically fathered him. It was always "dad did his best" and "you don't know how hard it was for him, losing mom was a horrible blow". Dean almost wants to throw it all back in Sam's face and remind him of all the arguments he had with dad over the years about how he was never there for them. But it would only serve to make Sam feel more guilty than he already does, and then what kind of older brother would Dean be?

_You're not much of an older brother right now anyway_, an inner voice taunts him. _Your little brother lost his girlfriend and his father within a six month time frame and you're still out in South Dakota fiddling with cars and hooking up with nameless chicks?_

He never claimed to be the worlds best brother but dammit he's given enough of himself already.

Atleast he has Bobby, a constant in his life who has kept him sane these last few years.

Dean walks towards his precious car, preening at the sight of her. That's when he hears a crunching coming from behind him.

_That better be Bobby._

But alas, it is not. It's the crazy fanatic from the night before and Dean groans out loud.

"What do you want?" he sighs.

"A little of your time."

"Well the clock's ticking. If I promise to listen to your bullshit, do you promise to leave me alone?"

"I cannot make such a promise," grimly replies Castiel.

"Then I guess I'm allergic to bullshit." Dean turns back around to walk to the Impala.

"I'm ultimately trying to save the human race, Dean. This isn't about you, this isn't about me. It's about making sure that the apocalypse doesn't happen," Castiel declares, sounding confident enough in his words that Dean could swear that the man thinks he's speaking the truth.

"Apocalypse. Right. Let me know how that goes." Dean opens the door to his car but it slams shut of it's own accord. He gapes at it for a moment, then glares at Castiel as though he knows he has something to do with this phenomena, and he tries to yank his car door back open. No such luck. No matter how hard he tries it won't budge an inch.

Castiel stares at him waiting for him to tire himself out.

Dean grunts, "Damn car." He tries all the other doors but those are stuck also.

Ultimately the Winchester throws his hands up in defeat and declares, "Fine! You win! Somehow you control my car and I can't get in it. What are you gonna do for your next trick, pull a bunny out of a hat?"

"Animals do not take shelter in hats," simply states Castiel.

Dean leans against his car and huffs, "Alright. It's storytime. Tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me and then I can be on my merry way."

"Your brother is in severe danger. He-"

"How do you even know I have a brother?" Dean inquires. "And why would he be in danger? As far as I know, he's doing fine at Standford."

"It's not what's happening right now. It's what's going to happen. Demons are going to try and rally him, Dean. They're going to try to get him to be Lucifer's vessel. There are demons at work right now trying to break the seals which hold him in the pits of Hell. They're getting closer every hour."

"You lost me at 'demons'. Are we talking 'Hell' kind of demons or what?"

"Demons come from Hell, yes," says Castiel slowly, as if he's stating the obvious. "And they're coming for Sam."

"I don't know who the hell you think you are but if you're stalking my brother you're barking up the wrong tree, man. He's too into his studies to make time for anyone."

"You believe this includes you," says Castiel. It isn't a question.

Dean scoffs. "Of course that includes me."

"Your father's death has affected you both-"

"Do not even _try _to pretend that you know about our father's death," growls Dean vehemently. He walks up to Castiel, pointing a finger in his face, "I don't know what you think you know but you aren't going to talk about my family like you know us. As far as I'm concerned you're just a screwed up stranger who twisted himself into thinking he's some sort of angel sent from Heaven to stop the apocalypse."

"I'm apologize. I should not have spoken of your father so abruptly," sympathizes Castiel softly.

Dean hadn't been expecting a reaction like that. It was worse than shouting curse words back at him. He hates being pitied. He backs off, anger still contorting his facial features into something fierce and spiteful.

"You're right. My father's death has affected me," Dean agrees. "It makes me hate him even more."

"You don't hate your father, Dean. You loved him."

"Yeah, well, I get the two mixed up easily enough. There's not much of a difference anyway." Dean shrugs it off like it's nothing. "I guess I should become you used to making statements you shouldn't be making. You're an angel. You should know everybody's problems, right? So tell me, are Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt on the rocks yet? Cause I could totally snatch her up."

Castiel forces himself not to scowl. Dean seems to want to turn everything into a joke when this is serious business he's talking about. He remains unagitated and unaffected, the way he should be. Emotionless.

"I'm a mind reader, Dean. I can tell you what you're thinking right now."

"Oh, and what's that?"

Castiel gets a distressed look on his visage as he says distastefully, "Fornicating with this Angelina Jolie woman."

"That was too easy! Okay, okay. What am I thinking of now?"

"I'm not going to keep playing these games with you. I'm here to aid you and your brother, not to play guessing games. And stop thinking that, it's disgraceful."

"Sorry," He says insincerely. "So, is that it? That's your big message? Demons are out to get my brother? Sorry. Not convinced."

"Dean," Castiel says shortly, "I'm going to do what I can to convince you. Do you want to see what my angelic powers allow me to do?"

Dean crosses his arms and stares cooly at Castiel, a mocking tone in his voice. "Suuure, angel boy. Lets see what you can do."

The warrior asks, "Do you have a knife?"

"You are not asking me for my pocket knife, right? I mean c'mon! How do I know you won't try to stab me and steal my car?"

"'Thou shalt not steal'," recites Castiel. "And I have no intention of hurting you. But if you wish to see what I can do with my Grace then you will hand over your knife."

_Curiosity killed the cat_, wryly thinks Dean as he reaches into the depths of his jeans pockets and digs it out. He warily hands it over to Castiel who stares at it as though he's never seen such a contraption.

"Where is the knife?" Castiel asks.

The Winchester doesn't know whether to laugh or to slap a hand to his forehead. If this guy were to be an angel, shouldn't they be all-knowing?

"There is only one Being who is all-knowing and that is God," the angel responds to his thoughts while examining the pocket knife thoroughly.

Dean decides not to address the creepy mind-reading technique and holds out his hand impatiently. "Give me that damn knife. I'll open it. But whatever you're going to do with it, once it's over, you're out of here and you stop doing that voodoo on the Impala, alright?"

The angel hands over the knife and Dean flips it open. He hesitates momentarily before handing it back and is horrified at what Castiel does: He slices into the palm of his hand, blood pouring out of the wound and onto the pure white snow, dirtying it with his vessel's blood.

"Are you _nuts_?" snaps Dean, taking Castiel's hand into his own to assess the damage. "This is going to need fucking stitches, man, and I don't really feel liking driving you to the hospital!"

Castiel removes his hand from Dean's and drops the knife into the snow seeing as he's not going to use it anymore. As the twenty four year old leans down to pick it back up Castiel uses his Grace to heal the gash, leaving behind nothing more than a slightly puckered pink mark on his hand. He could heal it all the way but he wants to leave behind proof to Dean that he had actually cut himself.

Dean looks up from cleaning the blood on a rag he keeps in his back pocket and furrows his brow. "Um, weren't you bleeding just a second ago?"

"Yes, I was."

"And did you have a deep cut on your left palm just a second ago?"

"Yes, I did."

"You know what, I don't remember taking any LSD this morning but maybe Bobby slipped some into my drink this morning just for shits and giggles. I must be going on one bad trip . . . fucking self-mutilating, self-healing _angels _and shit . . . " Dean mutters to himself in frustration.

"Do you believe me now?" questions Castiel.

"No I don't believe you! How can I? You're not an angel, you're just a crazy person with some freaky powers that no one should have. Angels do not exist, niether do demons. When we die we all rot in the ground and that's that."

"You find comfort in believing that this is it, that there is nothing beyond this?" His tone is full of blatant disbelief.

"No," says Dean, "I find comfort in the knowledge that this isn't all just a test."

"It's not a test," agrees Castiel, "your life is my Father's gift to you. How you choose to use it is your responsibility."

"Riiight," chuckles the cynic. "So how did you do that trick, healing your hand? Was the whole cutting just an illusion?"

"I assure you it was not a trick. What you've witnessed is my Grace, which allows me to do many things. I am an angel, Dean, and it's crucial that we save your brother from Lucifer."

"Not that I would wish you on anyone else but why aren't you talking to my brother if this is so important?" Dean argues.

"Because if I were to tell him he is Lucifer's vessel he wouldn't listen to me."

"Of course he wouldn't listen to you. Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound?" Dean shakes his head, not believing what he's hearing, nor what he's seen. This man must really be psychologically disturbed to go to these lengths to get him to agree with him. "Of course, there's no arguing with a crazy man."

"I am not crazy. When I say that your brother would not listen to me I don't mean that he would not believe me. He just doesn't want the truth confirmed. You see, he's already conversed with a demon, which is why I was sent to Earth. There's a secret struggle going on to convert your brother to one side or the other and right now. The demons are winning."

"Sammy is a normal college student. He doesn't talk to demons, he is not a vessel, and he certainly isn't going over to 'the dark side'," Dean says, using air quotes.

"What is that gesture you're making with your fingers? Should I be offended?"

Dean sighs, massaging his temples. "Look, this is all fun and games until my brain decides to shut down on me. I'm going now and you're welcome to stand here in your bare feet in freezing temperatures until your happy-ass decides you've had enough and leaves. So go ahead and fly away or whatever it is that you do."

Castiel can't force back a scowl this time. What is it going to take to convince Dean Winchester of the existence of angels, demons, God, and Lucifer?

Dean makes the mistake of blinking and Castiel is gone.

. . . That's strange.

Dean could have sworn he heard the flutter of wings.


End file.
